


You fill up my senses, come fill me again

by orphan_account



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff, Just a bit of angst at the beginning, M/M, Some mentions of depression, Thomas taking care of Newt, Winter Aesthetic, very soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:41:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21800080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Written as part of the Maze Runner Secret Santa 2019 for Cecy (ccecily, steveharrintgon)I hope you enjoy <3Here’s a reference for the music Newt was listening to in the bath tub, if anyone cares to listen as they read: https://youtu.be/yimlIZEJwPYAnd finally, the title is a lyric from Annie’s Song by John Denver.
Relationships: Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 73
Collections: Maze Runner Secret Santa 2019





	You fill up my senses, come fill me again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ccecily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ccecily/gifts).



Thomas loved winter.

He was one of the few people he knew who genuinely loved the cold. He hated summers, with their cloying heat he could never escape, making him sweaty and lethargic as his clothes stuck to his skin and his own breath felt too hot in his lungs. Cold was so much better because he could always put on more layers of protection against it; though, he really didn’t seem to need as much as other people.

And nowhere near as much as Newt.

Maybe that’s the real reason that he especially loved winter—because he got to see his boyfriend, all slender lines and lanky limbs, bundled up in hoodies and coats and gloves and scarves until the only thing visible through the thick layers of clothing was his unruly blonde hair.

Newt was also especially cuddly in the winter, shamelessly huddling against Thomas in an attempt to steal some of his warmth, and that was a certainly a bonus, too.

Of course, there were a few downsides.

It was a Wednesday, halfway through the second week in November. Though it was only 5:30pm it was already pitch-black outside, daylight savings time having ended the week before. Thomas was a freelance illustrator who worked from home, and around this time he’d already done his best work for the day so usually he was just puttering around the apartment waiting for Newt to get off work.

He perked up as soon as he heard the keys jingling in the door of their apartment, and rushed to put the kettle on.

“Hey babe!” He leaned around the wall of their small kitchen to flash a smile at Newt, watching as the thin man turned around to shut the door and hung his black coat on one of the nearby wall hooks. “How was your day?”

“Fine,” Newt said shortly, not looking at him, and Thomas struggled to keep the smile in place.

Ah. One of those days, then. Thomas watched as Newt toed off his shoes and then stood by the door as if he’d run fresh out of ideas of what to do next, his movements stiff and slow. Thomas disappeared briefly back into the kitchen to set down the two mugs he’d just taken out of the cupboard, then immediately went to Newt, wrapping him into an exuberant hug.

“Love you,” he said brightly.

“Love you,” Newt repeated listlessly. Thomas stepped back and rubbed Newt’s arms, ducking his head and angling to try to make eye contact.

“Did something happen at work? Or is it the usual?”

“The usual.”

“Well, I’m making tea.” Thomas swooped in and kissed the corner of Newt’s mouth. “Come sit down.” He guided his boyfriend to the couch and Newt basically collapsed into it, scrunching up into the corner and folding his legs. He propped his elbow on the arm rest and his chin in his hand, staring off into a corner of the room, his expression flat and dull.

Thomas busied himself in the kitchen until the kettle started to whine. Then, armed with two steaming mugs of freshly-steeped tea, he returned to the living room and gently prodded Newt’s hands apart so he could hold his before plopping down next to him on the couch.

They were silent for a few moments, before Newt gave a heavy sigh.

“It’s just so fucking dark out,” he muttered.

“I know. It sucks.” Thomas sipped the tea, leaning in to the point of contact where their shoulders touched.

“I hate commuting. Being in the car all that time. I feel cramped. It’s irritating.”

“I’m sorry, babe.” Thomas frowned. “Working from home is nice, but it can feel cramped here, too.” Newt seemed to emerge briefly from his self-pity to shoot Thomas a sympathetic look, but his eyes were soon unfocused again.

“I spend so much time at work. It feels like a waste. And when I get home I’m too tired to do anything I want to do, or need to do. Why did I even fucking go to college in the first place.” Newt rubbed his eyes. “Nothing matters anyway.”

“Nothing?”

Newt lifted his head, turning to look at Thomas with eyes full of regret. Before he could say anything, though, Thomas laughed softly.

“I’m only teasing, Newt. I just want you to feel better.”

“You do matter, Tommy,” Newt spoke as if he hadn’t heard him. “Of course you do. I don’t know what I’d do without you, honest.” He looked down at the mug in his hands as if just remembering it was there, and raised it to his lips for a hesitant sip.

“Well,” Thomas snuggled in closer, hip bumping up against Newt’s. “It’s 5:45 now. You have to be in bed by, what? Around 11?”

Newt blew gently on the tea, nodding absently.

“That gives us…” Thomas paused to count quickly on his fingers, “One-two-three-four-five, five hours to do whatever we want.”

Newt quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Hey, I’m an artist, not a mathematician.” Thomas grinned. “So what do you want to do, for the next five hours?”

Newt shrugged. Thomas waited.

“I need to clean the bathroom,” Newt finally muttered. “Check the oil in the car.” He winced. “Actually, car needs cleaning too, I keep leaving trash from lunch in there. Laundry. Groceries. Change the payment plan on my student loans.” Thomas could see the weight settling down over Newt, pushing on his shoulders until they slumped.

“I didn’t say what do you _need_ to do,” he interrupted, “I said what do you _want_ to do?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“Then let’s do nothing.” Thomas took a drink of his tea, then rested his head on Newt’s shoulder. “I love doing nothing as long as it’s with you.”

Finally, Newt broke into a smile.

They stayed on the couch for a long time like that, sipping at their tea and trading quiet words, their conversation flowing easily as they talked about nothing. Newt was still quieter and more somber than usual, which in turn made Thomas a bit more determinedly energetic, as if he could transfer some of his enthusiasm to his boyfriend.

It had never worked before, but that didn’t stop Thomas from trying.

Eventually Newt set aside his mug and turned fully towards Thomas, wrapping his arms around him and curling into his side. Thomas smiled, kissing the top of Newt’s head and then running his fingers through his hair.

Newt hummed appreciatively, so Thomas kept doing it, petting the side of his head in soothing strokes. After a few moments Newt had gone so still that Thomas thought he might be falling asleep like that, until he heard quiet sniffling.

Then Newt’s shoulders jumped in a barely contained sob.

“Hey,” Thomas said softly, squeezing an arm around Newt’s shoulders as he cried. “Hey. It’s okay.” He shifted briefly so he could set his mug down on a side table and then wrapped his other arm around Newt. The other man was quick to compose himself, eventually sitting up and brushing away his tears with the heel of his hand.

“Sorry, Tommy,” he said thickly. “I’m just so sick of feeling this way.”

Thomas nodded, cupping the side of Newt’s face with one hand and tracing his thumb over Newt’s cheek. Newt closed his eyes, leaning in to the touch. Thomas bit his lip, unable to keep the note of concern out of his voice.

“Are you still taking that medication?”

Newt nodded, eyes still closed.

“And it’s not helping?”

“It helps, a bit,” Newt whispered. “I think. Hard to tell, sometimes.”

“Do you think you need to switch to something else? Or a different dose…?”

“I don’t know.” Newt sounded defeated. “It doesn’t matter. I’m alright.”

“But you just said—”

Newt gave such a heavy, tired sigh that Thomas bit off the rest of the sentence.

“You know what, never mind. Want to watch a movie?”

Newt shook his head, another tear squeezing out from beneath closed eyelids. He looked _miserable_ and it made Thomas’s heart ache to know he couldn’t just make it all go away.

“Well what _do_ you want?” Thomas asked, a bit desperately.

“That’s part of it, Tommy. I don’t want anything.”

Thomas frowned, and nodded. He’d known that already. This wasn’t anything new, and he was disappointed in himself for becoming frustrated with Newt when he knew he couldn’t help it. It wasn’t his fault that he got like this sometimes.

Thomas just had to adapt. He could do that.

“Does that mean I get to pick?”

Newt finally opened his eyes, eyebrows knitted in muted curiosity as he gave a slight tilt of his head.

“Sorry?”

“Is it okay if I pick something for you to do? And you do it not because you want to but because I want you to? Like a favor to me? It won’t be hard, you’ll hardly have to do anything at all. And you’re under no obligation to feel better afterwards but it’s at least a thing to do instead of sitting here feeling bad because there’s nothing you want to do. Would that be alright?”

Newt exhaled, the ghost of a tired smile on his lips.

“That was a bit hard to follow, love, but sure. I’ll do whatever you think I should do.”

“Alright.” Thomas kissed Newt on the very tip of his nose, then stood up. “Stay here.” He backed away cautiously, holding up a hand like he was telling a dog to _sit_ and _stay_. Then he cast around the living room for a moment before coming up with a soft, thick blanket, which he proceeded to wrap around Newt, trapping his arms by his sides.

“Stay.”

“I’m staying.” Newt huffed out a little laugh as he watched Thomas retreat further into the apartment.

Eventually, the sound of running water floated out to him on the couch.

“Tommy? What’re you up to?”

“Don’t you get off that couch!” He shouted back, clearly from the bathroom because his voice was tinny from echoing off of the tile.

“I’m not!” Newt huffed, and scrunched down further into the blanket cocoon, the soft fibers brushing against his nose.

It was a few more minutes before Thomas reemerged into the living room.

Without a word he approached the couch and promptly shoved his hands under Newt, gathering the blonde man into his arms before he had a chance to protest—though he did anyway, of course, loudly and with only partially feigned exasperation.

“Thomas! Put me down!”

Thomas only grunted, smiling as he struggled to adjust Newt’s weight in his arms as well as he could while the other man was squirming to escape.

“Bloody hell, what’s gotten into you? I can walk, you know.” The blanket trailed on the ground, one end still partially wrapped around Newt and trapped between his chest and Thomas’s. After a few determined steps, when it became clear that Thomas had no intention of putting him down, Newt gave up and allowed himself to relax, still grumbling occasionally as Thomas carried him into the bathroom.

“Gonna drown me, then?” Newt asked, eyeing the full bathtub. “Finally had enough of me, have you?”

“Pffft, you wish.” Thomas set him down on his feet and tossed aside the blanket, kicking it out into the hallway before closing the door to trap the heat of the bath water in the small room. Despite the precaution Newt started shivering the instant Thomas moved to tease off his shirt.

“Now you’re undressing me?” Newt pouted. “I’m not a child.”

“Shut up and let me take care of you, alright?” Thomas tugged the shirt up over Newt’s head, and it was made only slightly awkward by the way Newt tried to keep his hands stiffly at his sides. “And stop struggling or you’re gonna be standing here in the cold way longer than you have to. C’moooon,” Thomas drawled teasingly, gesturing to the bath. “Doesn’t it look the least bit enticing?”

Newt eyed the water, gently steaming against the cold air of the apartment, and relented. As Thomas stripped him of his pants and boxers Newt couldn’t help the flash of mischief that made him cup Thomas’s chin and tilt his head up for an open-mouthed kiss.

“Gonna watch me, ya creep?” He breathed into Thomas’s mouth, eyes closed.

Thomas allowed himself to briefly melt into the kiss before pulling away with a decisive little, “Nope.”

He gestured to the bath and Newt, shivering from head to toe, gladly slipped in, unable to help the little sigh of relief as he was enveloped in hot water, his head tilting back to rest against the edge of the bathtub and eyes fluttering briefly shut. He felt Thomas’s lips pressing against his forehead and he smiled.

Gentle music floated through the bathroom, and Newt opened his eyes to see that Thomas had set up his laptop on the toilet lid. The music was calm, with soothing beats and gentle ambient sounds mixed in to add a thick and comforting layer of aesthetic, as if Newt were sitting beside a crackling fire on a brisk autumn night.

“I’ll be back in a bit to get you out,” Thomas said quietly, and closed the door behind him with a soft little _click_.

For a long time Newt sat in the bath, limbs feeling heavy and useless as he was lulled by the warm press of the water, the steam rising to cup his face in gentle hands until a mixture of sweat and condensation beaded on his brow. Eventually he slipped beneath the surface, allowing the heat and pressure to claim him completely and mute the world, until a few bubbles escaped through his softly parted lips and he surfaced again, head rolling against the cool plastic edge of the tub as he melted completely into the moment, letting himself drift away on the gentle currents of softly staticky, fuzzy lo-fi music.

In the end, he didn’t have the energy to properly wash himself, figuring he could take a shower in the morning. He had barely moved at all by the time the water started to cool, and when Thomas finally returned his eyes were closed and he was breathing slowly and evenly, not quite asleep but certainly on his way there.

He felt the gentle, coaxing brush of fingers against his jaw, but kept his eyes closed a moment longer, willing this feeling to last. He wasn’t exactly happy but he wasn’t numb either, and his body was immensely comfortable, so much so that he gave a little whine when he felt the water moving down near his feet and heard the metallic clink that meant that Thomas had opened the drain.

“No, love, just a bit longer.”

“You’re pruning up, Newt. ‘Sides, the water’s getting cold.”

Newt sighed, finally opening his eyes.

“Thank you. That was nice.”

“Oh, I’m not finished yet.” Thomas bent down to kiss him, then circled his hands around Newt’s wrists and drew him up and out of the bathtub. Even before Newt’s feet hit the rug his dripping body was pebbled head to toe in goosebumps and he frowned mightily as he began to shiver.

But Thomas was there in an instant, wrapping him up in a thick and fluffy towel, rubbing it along his thin limbs to remove the excess water before piling the towel on top of Newt’s head. A corner flopped down to cover his eyes and Newt made a little grunt of protest before he felt Thomas slipping his arms into a soft, warm robe.

Thomas toweled off Newt’s hair, the taller man bowing his head so Thomas could reach more easily.

“Feels nice,” Newt mumbled, as Thomas ran his fingers through the damp strands of hair, pressing into Newt’s scalp. _I don’t deserve all this._ The thought died on his tongue because he knew Thomas wouldn’t want to hear it.

As Thomas pushed Newt out of the bathroom the cold air of the apartment hit him like a chill wind and Newt broke out into shivers again, crossing his arms and grumbling.

“Hate the cold.”

“Babe,” Thomas laughed, taking him by the arm and guiding him to their bedroom, “It’s really not that cold.”

“Says you, ya bloody furnace of a human.”

Thomas just quietly grinned as he shut the door behind them.

It took Newt a moment to register the changes to their bedroom, and when he did he wondered how Thomas was able to pull it all off in the time he was in the tub. He’d somehow scrounged through their Christmas decorations to find a string of fairy lights and hung them up above their bed. There were at least two candles lit on each bedside table, and the combined light was just enough to see by in the darkened room.

Soft, flickering light. Warm light. Low and smooth light. Nothing harsh, nothing glaring, nothing to hide from. A space heater on Newt’s side of the bed was already humming along and Newt lifted his eyebrows when he saw that his pajamas were laid on top of it, the fabric toasty-warm and waiting for him.

He closed his eyes and inhaled the mingled scents of the candles—vanilla and apple cinnamon and just a touch of woodsmoke and maybe gingerbread, too—then turned and flung himself at Thomas, burying his face in the other man’s neck and squeezing him into a hug so fierce it threatened to shatter them both.

Newt pulled back, cupping Thomas’s face in his hands and simply looking at him.

He didn’t have any words. This was so sweet, so perfect, so much what he needed in that moment that he was overwhelmed. Kept thinking he’d blink and wake up, that Thomas would fade away, that all of this would be a dream because he had done nothing to earn this and the world didn’t just give you perfection for free.

But apparently, it did. Thomas stayed solid in front of him, tipped forward to softly brush their lips together and Newt inhaled sharply as his hands stroked Thomas’s face.

“Get dressed,” Thomas whispered, “I’m gonna read to you.”

“You’re—what?” Newt blinked, not sure he’d heard that right. But Thomas was just grinning at him again as he turned away and began changing into his soft grey sweatpants and shirt. Newt took a second longer to get moving, but eventually he did, removing the robe and slipping in to the wonderfully warm clothes Thomas had laid out for him.

He wormed his way under the covers on his side of the bed, letting out a little sigh as his feet scrunched up near the space heater, warming cold toes. He practically melted into the pillow. When Thomas got into bed next to him Newt squirmed his way over until he was pressed flush up against his side, head resting on his chest and hand fisting in the fabric of his shirt.

God, he loved this man.

“You’re cuddly tonight,” Thomas chuckled, somewhere up above him. Newt answered without opening his eyes.

“Yes.” It was more of a whisper-sigh than a word.

“Well stay awake.” Thomas poked his nose and Newt scrunched his face up, shaking his head once. Thomas sat up, back resting against the headboard, and Newt sighed as he begrudgingly followed him, though still leaning heavily into Thomas and resting his head on his shoulder.

Then Thomas was pressing a warm mug into his hands and at first Newt assumed it was more tea. Then he sniffed, inhaling the rich chocolatey scent with a hint of sharp peppermint, and he realized that Thomas had made him hot chocolate.

“How did you come up with all this so fast?” Newt murmured, lifting the mug to take a sip of the thick, sweet beverage and closing his eyes in appreciation for the warmth and pleasant sense of nostalgia it filled him with.

“Magic,” Thomas said simply, and Newt was inclined to believe him.

Thomas threw one arm around Newt while the other hand brought out a beat-up old paperback, and Newt chuckled when he saw what it was. _Excession_ , by Iain M. Banks, one of Newt’s favorite science fiction novels. Full of breathtaking world building, equal parts snark and emotional depth—and Thomas was going to _read_ it to him?

Thomas brought his hands together to turn to the first page, a bit of an effort since his arm was wrapped around Newt and inadvertently squeezing the other man tightly to his side in the process. Newt didn’t mind one bit.

“I can’t believe you’re gonna read this to me,” Newt said, a bit sheepish. It wasn’t really Thomas’s type of thing—he preferred feel-good fantasy epics, and as far as Newt was aware he’d never picked up this particular book before or shown any interest in it at all.

But Thomas simply shushed him, and began:

_“A little more than one hundred days into the fortieth year of her confinement, Dajeil Gelian was visited in her lonely tower overlooking the sea by an avatar of the great ship that was her home…”_

Equal parts embarrassed and thrilled at first, Newt soon settled in to a warm contentment as the familiarity of a story he’d read a hundred times washed over him, spiked with the brilliance of Thomas’s voice, the way his particular cadence and tone brought something new and wonderful to well-worn words.

Thomas even did a voice when he read the parts of the sentient black bird Gravious, and the somber, androgynous avatar Amorphia. Honestly, Newt started to think that Thomas would be a wonderful voice over actor or audiobook narrator, although his opinion might have been just the slightest bit affected by the unbearable love he felt for the other man and the way that love illuminated every syllable in rose-tinted honey and amber gold.

Newt sipped at the hot chocolate and closed his eyes, letting Thomas’s voice wash over him.

He felt good. He felt _normal._ He almost didn’t recognize the person he’d been when he walked through the door just an hour or so ago.

This was him. This was him, and it was Thomas, and it was him and Thomas together and it was _right_ and everything, everything was okay.

_”She became suddenly very aware of her place here, her position. She saw herself and the tower, both within and outside the ship…A slab of power and substance floating in a giant spoonful of sea.”_

Newt sighed, the words affecting him as they always did. Making him feel both powerful and small, significant and fleeting. And present. Here.

He was here.

Thomas had paused reading at Newt’s heavy sigh and when he realized this he prodded his side and gently murmured,

“Keep going, love. You’re just getting to the good part…”

* * *

Nearly two months later, the sky had solidified into a solid grey cast like hammered steel. Occasional shards of snow squeezed out of the frigid atmosphere, raked off like metallic flints and burning cold against his cheek. Though, now, falling silently and harmlessly beyond the protective overhang of the porch roof.

“Hmm,” Thomas considered the question as he leaned against Newt, playing with the soft hair of his nape. He was looking at Newt’s mouth the entire time, though seemed to be unaware of the fact, and Newt chuckled at his slightly tipsy boyfriend.

“Got it!” Thomas said suddenly, eyes lighting up. “An ice prince.”

“An ice prince?” Newt repeated, quirking an eyebrow as he looked down at Thomas.

“Yeah. No no wait, an _elven_ ice prince. So, you’d be like…an elf, since you’re tall and slender and pale.”

“Sure.”

“And a prince, of course, because…I mean look at you.” Newt waited for more of an explanation but Thomas just kept beaming up at him. He rolled his eyes, lifting a hand to run it through short, feather-soft brown hair. Thomas closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.

“And what about the ice part? Is that just because you’re cold right now?” It was New Year’s Eve, after all, so the porch where they had come for a bit of alone time and a break from the crushing warmth of the party inside their friend’s house was seriously cold. Newt had always run colder than Thomas and he was struggling not to shiver as a biting wind picked up, slipping between the flipped-up collar of his peacoat to raise goosebumps on his exposed neck.

Thomas felt like a heater against his chest, and Newt knew that if he wanted to he could slip his cold hands into Thomas’s and feel instantly warmer, like slipping on a pair of gloves.

“Noooo,” Thomas whined, clearly frustrated that Newt wasn’t seeing his vision of what fantasy creature Newt would be—inspired by the Lord of the Rings marathon currently underway inside the house. “C’mon, man, if you had any magic it would definitely be ice magic.”

“Explain yourself, dear one.”

Okay, maybe Newt was a little tipsier than he wanted to admit to himself—not much of a surprise, really, given that he _loved_ champagne and the sweet, golden bubbly liquid had been flowing freely that night. He always came up with strange little sayings and pet names when he was drinking, though Thomas didn’t seem to notice.

“You’ve got this amazing skin,” Thomas said, hand stroking Newt’s cheekbone beneath dark eyes that danced with amusement and no small amount of muted adoration. Thomas’s touch was even more intoxicating than champagne, fingertips igniting little pinpricks of pleasure sharper than the carbonation that had tickled his nose and throat. “Pale and smooth…like cream. Like moonlight. You practically _glow_ , dude.”

 _Dude._ Thomas could be such a bro, even when he was talking about elf magic and spouting drunken love poetry.

“And it’s your demeanor, too.” Thomas’s tone had shifted, and he stared up at Newt, looking far more serious than the situation called for. There was a blade-sharp gleam in his warm brown eyes that spoke of manic intelligence intensified by inebriation. Newt felt a little thrill go up his spine at being the focus of that attention. “You’re…careful. And kinda distant.”

“What you’re saying is I’m cold.”

“No!” Thomas leaned into him even more, pressing his chest against Newt’s. “Well, maybe a little. To people you don’t know. And also when you don’t want to talk about something. You’re not very good at hiding it when you’re annoyed. You’re blunt, but also kinda mysterious.”

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended.”

“Then just go with flattered, cuz I’m a little too drunk to talk myself out of a hole.”

“Fine,” Newt said, giving an exaggerated sigh before dipping his head to give Thomas a quick kiss. “But you owe me, so I get to be offended later.”

“I’m sure I’ll do something stupid later to earn it.”

“Is that all your evidence, then?” Newt wrapped his arms around Thomas, trying to draw a little more warmth from their contact without alerting Thomas to just how cold he was.

“Well, and you’re blonde,” Thomas said, as if that was the most obvious connection in the world.

“Hmm, but shouldn’t I have blue eyes if I’m going to be an ice whatever?”

“Elven ice prince,” Thomas corrected him, “And no. Your eyes are perfect.”

“I dunno,” Newt teased, “Blue would probably be better. Mine are the color of mud. I make for a terrible blonde.”

“Are you really fishing for compliments, now?” Thomas nuzzled Newt’s chin with his nose. “Have I been that bad a boyfriend?” Instead of letting Newt answer, he kissed him, something more than a peck on the lips but still rather innocent. Sweet. It was sweet, which was just like his Tommy.

When Thomas finally broke away he said quietly,

“And for the record, you’re wrong. They’re not mud, they’re…dark chocolate. Or expensive coffee. The good shit that you want to drink black, that can wake you from the dead.”

“You’re a poet, Tommy.”

“Only when I’ve been drinking.”

The wind picked up and Newt shuddered involuntarily.

“Can ice elves control the weather?”

Thomas thought about this.

“Yes,” he said finally, “But they can only make it colder.”

“Fuck that,” Newt laughed, shivering again. “I don’t want to be a bloody ice elf. I want to trade.”

“We can go inside if you want.”

“Nah.” Newt wormed his hands into the back pockets of Thomas’s jeans. “Let’s stay out here a bit longer. Gally’s in rare form tonight and I need a break from that mess. Besides, you haven’t told me what fantasy creature you’d be.”

Newt should probably be the one making something up for Thomas just like Thomas had done for him, but he wasn’t that creative. He’d much rather hear what Tommy could imagine—he _loved_ all the weird and quirky things his mind came up with.

“I think I’d just be the human who fell in love with the elf prince.” Thomas nestled his head onto Newt’s shoulder, nose tickling his neck. “Your dad would hate me and it would be bittersweet, because we’d love each other but I’d age faster than you. It would be like you blinked and I was suddenly old. And when I died I’d be happy that I knew you my entire life, and you’d look the same as the day we met.”

“Bloody hell, Tommy, that sounds awful.”

“I dunno,” Thomas shrugged. “I kind of like sad love stories.”

“Well I don’t,” Newt said firmly, leaning down to plant a possessive kiss on Thomas’s lips. “Real life is sad enough so quit with the depressing bullshit, alright?”

“Well if you don’t like my answer you could come up with one.”

The two boys were so engrossed in their conversation and occasional kisses that they didn’t notice when everyone inside the house began to count down.

“Hmm, well…I’m pretty sure people ship Orlando Bloom’s character with that dwarf friend of his.”

“A _dwarf?_ Really?” Thomas’s eyes narrowed as he looked up at Newt. “Are you calling me short?”

“You called me cold! Fair’s fair, love.”

Wild cheering erupted from within the house and Thomas and Newt turned their heads in unison.

“Ah, guess we missed the countdown.” Newt was grinning as he looked down at Thomas. “Better give me a New Year’s kiss then, love. C’mon,” he tugged on Thomas’s collar, “Up on your tippy-toes now, dwarf boy.”

Thomas thought about refusing just for that remark, but in the end he dove forward (and, yes, a little bit _up_ ) for the kiss and he knew it was because he was absolutely whipped.


End file.
